WHERE we made the fire In the summer time Of branch and briar On the hill to the sea, I slowly climb Through winter mire, And scan and trace The forsaken place Quite readily. Now a cold wind blows, And the grass is gray, But the spot still shows As a burnt circle - aye, And stick-ends, charred, Still strew the sward Whereon I stand, Last relic of the band Who came that day! Yes, I am here Just as last year, And the sea breathes brine From its strange straight line Up hither, the same As when we four came. - But two have wandered far From this grassy rise Into urban roar Where no picnics are, And one - has shut her eyes For evermore | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...APRIL by WILLIAM CARLOS WILLIAMS ONLY A WOMAN by DINAH MARIA MULOCK CRAIK SUMMER'S LAST WILL AND TESTAMENT: A LITANY IN TIME OF PLAGUE by THOMAS NASHE VERSES TO MR. C by ALEXANDER POPE THE DEATH OF HARRISON by NATHANIEL PARKER WILLIS |